


Arrows, Cats, and Other Adventures

by Sanctuaria



Series: Codependency is Dangerous for Assassins (good thing that's no longer all we are) [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Black Widow (Movie 2020), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Arrow necklace origin story, Clint Barton Whump, Clint hides in the vents, Coulson Lives, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fruit Ninja, Mostly all fluff actually, Natasha Romanov's Arrow Necklace, Outtakes, Strike Team Delta, Strike Team Delta Origin Story, pre-Bahrain Melinda May is a little shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:09:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24826579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanctuaria/pseuds/Sanctuaria
Summary: Deleted scenes fromThe Lengths We Would Go, and generally can be read separately from that fic.1. After a bad mission, Clint takes refuge in the air ducts.2. Natasha doesn’t celebrate birthdays. Her partner, however, does. (AKA arrow necklace origin story)3. Two master assassins. A game of Fruit Ninja. What could go wrong?4. Natasha and Clint have a conversation about trust.5. Kate and Natasha go shopping for Christmas presents.6. Clint and Natasha come to the realization that Kate has a girlfriend.7. Coulson Lives 2k13.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Laura Barton, Kate Bishop/America Chavez
Series: Codependency is Dangerous for Assassins (good thing that's no longer all we are) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1795762
Comments: 78
Kudos: 65





	1. Hiding in the Air Ducts

**Author's Note:**

> This is a small series of outtakes from my longer fic/STRIKE Team Delta origin story. Most can be read as standalone ficlets, but if you're coming from that story I've included small timestamp-type-things so you know whenabouts they would have occurred during the formation of Clint and Natasha's partnership. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_Sometime after Natasha is inducted as a full agent of S.H.I.E.L.D._

Natasha frowned, looking back down the hallway the way she’d come and then pressed her S.H.I.E.L.D. badge to the keycard scanner. It blinked red, making an angry beeping sound at her. “So he gets access to mine but I don’t have access to his,” she muttered, letting the badge retract back to her hip and knocking—banging, really, at this point—on the door again. “Clint,” she called. There was no answer.

“Problem?” a familiar voice asked from behind her, and she turned around to see Coulson watching her in his usual suit and tie, a shorter woman with jet black hair wearing a specialist’s uniform standing next to him.

“Barton’s not answering his door,” Natasha huffed. “Who’s she?”

Coulson sighed. “Agent Romanoff, meet my occasional-partner and constant-thorn-in-my-side, Agent Melinda May.” She shook May’s hand, feeling the woman’s gaze sweep over her appraisingly.

“So this is what you do when I’m not pulling your ass out of the fryer,” May teased Coulson. “Are you sure you’re qualified?”

“Why wouldn’t he be qualified?” Natasha asked, lifting an eyebrow.

May made a quick upward jut of her chin. “Nǐ shuō èyǔ, duì bùduì?” _You speak Russian, right?_

“Shì,” Natasha confirmed.

May gestured at Coulson. “Hǎo ba, zhè bùshì. Zài wǒmen zuìhòu yīcì fǎngwèn èluósī shí, tā gàosù bǎo'ān rényuán, tā shì cóng liánhéguó lái zhèlǐ de, mùdì shì bǎohù suǒyǒu de māo.” _Well, this one doesn’t. On our last op to Russia he told the security guard that he was here from the UN for the protection of all of his cats._

“Hey,” Coulson complained even as Natasha grinned, her irritation at Clint’s disappearance fading momentarily. “Stop it with the Cantonese; that’s just cheating. And ganging up on me.” He glared at May. “You told her the 0-8-4 story, didn’t you?”

“Shì,” she told him cheekily, smiling at Natasha. “I like her.”

Coulson rolled her eyes. “Of course you do.” He moved toward the door, pressing his own badge to the scanner. It glowed green and the door clicked open. All the interior lights were off—no one was home.

Natasha frowned, mind going back to the problem at hand. “We had plans to watch _Phantom Menace_ and _Attack of the Clones_ again to settle our argument over which one is worse once and for all. Did he say anything to you after the debrief?”

Their handler shook his head. “No, but he was pretty tight-lipped about the whole thing.”

“Barton? Tight-lipped?”

“Did anything happen on your mission?” Coulson asked.

Her brows furrowed. “Nothing that I didn’t put in my report. We went to Rome, did the surveillance, got the info S.H.I.E.L.D. needed. It was…easy. But he’s not answering his phone, not in the mess or the gym…”

“Maybe check the vents?” Coulson suggested.

“The vents?”

“The air ducts,” he clarified. “I think there’s an easy access panel in the conference room on level two.”

“…Okay,” Natasha said, sensing there was something Coulson wasn’t saying. “I’ll do that, then.”

“Hěn gāoxìng jiàn dào nǐ; wǒmen yīnggāi qù hējiǔ,” May told her. _It was nice meeting you; we should get drinks sometime._

“Not again, Mel,” Coulson said. “I swear I’m going to learn Cantonese just so won’t be able to do that to me anymore…”

“That was Mandarin.”

He heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I had a one-in-two chance, and forgive me for going with the one you grew up with…” Coulson looked back at Natasha. “Good luck, Agent Romanoff.” She nodded, watching as Coulson and May walked away, still bickering. As he turned, she realized he had a note taped to the back of his suit jacket reading ‘Ask me about my Captain America trading cards.’

Natasha had a pretty good guess whose handiwork that was.

Shaking her head, Natasha went off to investigate some air ducts.

* * *

S.H.I.E.L.D.’s air ducts were filthy. Dust floated down on top of Natasha as she finished removing the ceiling vent panel from where she was standing on the conference table desk. She peered up into the shaft, relieved to see that instead of going straight upward it ran parallel with the ceiling. She pushed the metal panel in first, angling it sideways so that it would fit through, and shoved it out of the way to be replaced once she was up there as well. Then she gripped the edge of the air duct and jumped, hauling herself upward by the forearms until she could get one knee and then the other over the lip as well. “This is the _easy_ access panel?” she muttered once she was all in. She grabbed the panel from where it lay and fitted it back into the empty hole before looking around, resisting the urge to sneeze.

The air duct continued off to both her right and left for at least a hundred feet in each direction before a turn. If she oriented herself by the layout of HQ, left would take her towards the gym while right would take her toward the analyst offices. The duct itself was about two and a half feet tall and three wide, making it a tight but not uncomfortable squeeze for her to move around, although with a high risk of banging her head. And it was cold, given that it was the height of summer and the building’s A/C was running full blast.

Maybe the dust would be a good thing. Examining the floor of the duct, Natasha mentally thanked Coulson for the tip on where to enter, as the lefthand passageway had definite marks in the dust—knees and boots and maybe even something dragged along. S.H.I.E.L.D. standard-issue soles, men’s size ten, if her training was anything to go by. Getting on her hands and knees, Natasha crawled along the passageway, following the trail Clint—hopefully it was Clint—had left behind. Rounding the corner, she spotted a dark object in front of her, and she picked it up once she got closer, identifying it as one of Clint’s hoodies. Holding it in one hand, she continued through the duct, going another few feet before a forced right turn into—

A blanket fort?

Natasha blinked. No, a nest. Clint was seated in the middle, able to sit upright due to the placement of the nest right under another duct that went straight up to the next floor. Even more chilled air blew out of it. “Natasha,” he said, legs tucked up close to his chest.

“Fancy meeting you here,” she joked, watching as it fell flat.

“How’d you find me?”

“Coulson.”

He nodded like that made sense, then resumed staring at the wall. She pulled herself closer, into the nest, and crossed her arms against the chill. “So.”

“So,” he replied, voice studiously uninflected.

“It’s nice,” she said instead. “Hard to find. Access to anywhere. Easy to use for ambushes. I can see why you like it up here.” She sneezed, setting off a whole new round of goosebumps across her arms. “Except maybe for the dust.” Natasha proffered the hoodie to him. “You going to use this?”

Clint shook his head. “No.”

She pulled it on. “Borrowing it. Thanks.” She was quickly engulfed with the smell of Clint, but the hoodie was soft and warm.

His lips quirked upwards slightly before returning to their grim line. They sat in silence for a while, Natasha content to wait him out—he had done so for her, on a few occasions so far in their partnership, though she’d rarely deigned to give him more than a few terse words’ explanation when he did. Seeing him… _spooked_ , or _rattled_ , or whatever this was—it helped connect the three entirely different Clint Bartons in her mind. The one he told flippantly vague stories of, kicked around and scrounging for himself in the circus as a kid. The goofy asshat he prided himself as when not on-duty. And the sniper, cold and calculating and precise and utterly unyielding when the mission required it. Trauma was the only thing that explained how such fractured personalities could exist together in one man, jagged, disparate pieces forced together to make some semblance of a whole.

“The pickpocket,” Clint said finally. Momentarily confused, Natasha thought back to their mission over fifteen hours ago, remembering the boy Barton had caught with his hand around his wallet near the Fontana di Trevi, who he’d sent off running with a harsh look. “He was just a kid.” She was silent, looking at him. “That could have been me, when I was with the circus. That _was_ me.” Natasha ventured closer. “Why didn’t I just let him have the cash? …On nights I didn’t bring back enough, Barney and his friends would beat me, or just claim we didn’t have enough to buy food for dinner if I was lucky. And if we didn’t have enough by the time the ringmaster checked in at the end of the week…”

“I’m sorry,” Natasha said.

“I know it’s not the same thing. It’s not the same situation. I just…” He glanced at her, the pain visible in his blue eyes.

She nodded. “I understand.”

He smiled uncertainly. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe you do.” He rummaged around, coming up with a brightly colored plastic bag. “Fruit snack?”

“Sure,” Natasha said, accepting one and popping it into her mouth. The sharply sweet flavor of artificial strawberry burst over her tongue.

“Just don’t tell Coulson.”

“That you’re up here? Pretty sure he already knows.”

“No, about the food. He banned me last time after a small…rat…problem.” Natasha laughed softly. “Did we…did we have plans?”

“Just movie night—”

“Oh, right, I forgot—”

“—no big deal,” Natasha assured him. “We can do it some other night.”

“Thanks.”

She nodded. “I’ll let you have your space. And your hoodie back—” Natasha gripped the bottom of the garment, beginning to pull it off.

“No, don’t bother,” he told her. “I have more. And you could—you could stay. If you wanted.” Clint reached behind him. “I have my laptop. If you don’t mind the dust.” He sighed. “ _So much_ dust.”

Natasha smiled. “Eh, what’s a little more?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming next Monday is the arrow necklace origin story, alluded to in Ch36 of TLWWG when Natasha meets Laura for the first time and realizes Clint is married. See you then!


	2. Natasha's Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha doesn't celebrate birthdays. Clint does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short but I was sad I never got to include it so here we are :)

_Soon after Budapest_

Clint was smiling at her too broadly for everything to be normal. Damn. He knew.

Well, of course he knew. He’d probably studied her file extensively before their initial interrogation, and knowing the snarky archer he’d probably memorized it too. Clint didn’t do things halfway.

“I don’t celebrate birthdays, Barton,” she told him curtly, turning to head out of his apartment and back to her own.

“You _didn’t_ celebrate birthdays,” he replied. “Now you do. Come on, Nat, one tiny present won’t kill you.”

She grudgingly turned back to him. “I told you about the gift-wrapped grenades in Sokovia, right?”

He rolled his eyes, presenting her with a small white cardboard box. It was no bigger than her fist and less than an inch tall. Natasha looked up at him dubiously as he pressed it into her hand, not letting go until her fingers had curled reluctantly around it. Sighing, she lifted the lid to reveal a small necklace nestled among the wrappings, silvery with an arrow pendant. “So you’ll have a little bit of me with you, even when we get separated on missions.” She could feel his eyes on her, watching her carefully.

“It’s pretty,” she said noncommittally, lifting the necklace out of the box. The arrow dangled in front of her eyes, catching and reflecting the light as it twisted. “I…I like it.”

“See? Birthday presents, not so bad,” Clint grinned. “Plus, I figured you could probably figure out how to use it as some sort of lock pick in a pinch. So it’ll be useful.”

“If a door is locked, I’ll just shoot it open,” Natasha said, giving him an amused glance as her hand closed over the pendant.

“Maybe you can’t make that much noise.”

“Then I’ll kick it open.”

“You’ve got a busted leg.”

“Cut out the lock with a knife.”

“No knife.”

She paused, thinking. “Fine, I’ll use your damn pendant. Somehow. It’s not exactly long and pointy, you know.”

He shrugged. “I’ve seen you make do with less, trust me. And I also thought that if you ever needed a reminder…of what side you’re on…” He caught sight of the way her eyes had darkened. “…you could look at it and remember that I believe in you. Because I do.”

Her posture relaxed infinitesimally. “Thanks, Clint,” she said, voice soft. She placed the necklace into his palm and moved her hair to give him access to her neck.

Understanding what she wanted, Clint stepped forward and clasped it there, adjusting it so that it fell properly. His touches to her bare skin were fleeting, gentle, and innocent, but she couldn’t help the prickle that went over it. The last time someone besides herself had touched her neck… _Ivan_.

As soon as the arrow was centered she let her hair fall back again, covering her neck again. “Really,” she said, covering her lapse. She let her eyes get softer than she usually allowed them. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Clint grinned at her. “Good’s a good look on you, Romanoff.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up...Clint and Natasha shenanigans ;)


	3. Fruit Ninja

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint has a wondrous idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something fun and fluffy for you today... :)

_Three months after Iceland_

“Nat.” There was a loud banging at her door. “Nat. Nat!” She got off the couch swiftly, practically running to the front door to answer it, and was unsurprised to see Clint on the other side.

“What’s wrong?” she demanded, pulling him inside and checking the hallway, handgun at the ready. “Who’s attacking?”

“No one,” Clint said, and she turned to look at him, taking in the broad smile on his face. “I just had a _great_ idea.”

Her eyebrows pinched together. “…what’s the idea?”

“Fruit ninja,” he told her proudly.

“…”

“Like, the iPhone game,” he said, as if worried she was confused. “Nat. We are assassins. We can play _real life Fruit Ninja_.”

“Clint,” she crooked a finger at him.

“Yeah? Isn’t it great? I even bought a sword and every—” His words were cut off as she shoved him out the door again, closing it in his face. Natasha rolled her eyes fondly as she returned to the couch, resuming her stroking of Liho, who butted her soft black head against her hand.

It was for his own good, really—the last thing Barton needed was a watermelon to the head.

* * *

The bags of takeout were heavy in one hand as the other rummaged in her pants pocket for her keys,fried rice and panang curry and Thai tea with boba in quantities enough that Clint wouldn’t have to go shopping for a week, disaster human that he was. Finally managing to extricate the keys from the tight jeans pocket—seriously, she should have taken a hit on whatever women’s clothing designer decided he needed to sell purses too back in the day and maybe she wouldn’t have this problem—she inserted them into the lock, twisting and pushing open the door.

“Hiyahhh!” A whole orange bounced off Clint’s blade and went sailing toward Natasha, missing her by a good two feet but knocking a plate off the counter where it shattered on the floor. “Aw, plate, no,” Clint lamented before turning back to Kate, who was standing at his kitchen table with a veritable pile of fruit in front of her. “All right, let’s try it again. Something bigger this time, maybe a cantaloupe?”

“Clint,” Natasha said.

“Hey, Nat, thanks for bringing the food,” he said cheerily, still obviously focused on Kate. At his beckoning, the young woman launched the requested fruit in the air, narrowly missing the lightbulb on the ceiling, and Clint lunged forward and swiped at it with his sword, cutting through a good inch of rind and setting it flying back toward his bedroom. The cantaloupe bounced off the wall with a dull thunk, then cracked open on the floor. Juice sprayed the hardwood.

“That was closer!” Clint grinned, running forward to high-five Kate before getting back into position.

“Clint, what are you doing?” Natasha asked.

“Fruit Ninja,” he replied happily, as if that wasn’t obvious. “You didn’t seem that psyched about the idea.”

“So you roped Kate into it?” she sighed.

“Hey, it’s better than doing it with Cooper at home,” he defended. “…and Laura said no.”

“Are you kidding? This is great,” Kate laughed. “I can’t believe you guys kept the fact that you’re literal assassins a secret from me so long when we could have been doing cool things like this!” She tossed a lemon into the air, Clint swinging wildly to hit it only to have it bounce off and roll away under the sink.

Natasha set the food on the counter, holding up her hand. “Okay, stop, stop, stop…”

“ _Nattt_ ,” Clint whined.

“If you’re going to do this, you’re going to do it right,” Natasha said, smiling a little in spite of herself as Kate let out a whoop and high-fived him again. She held out a hand. “Sword.” He handed it over, grinning ear to ear. She felt the blade. “Where did you get this?”

“Guy who owed me a favor in R&D,” he told her.

“It’s not sharp enough. You’re going to want to start with a super sharp blade and some fruits that can have their skin pierced quickly and easily so that the blade slices through them instead of just hitting them across the room like a bat. Tomatoes, or plums…”

“Got ‘em both,” Kate said, holding them up.

“Do you have a knife sharpener?” she asked Clint.

“Even better, I have an arrowhead sharpener.”

“That’s not better, but okay.” Natasha shot them both a full-fledged, if not feral, grin. “Let’s do this.”


	4. Suspicions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha expresses some doubts during her early days at S.H.I.E.L.D.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple short scenes this time that never made it into Natasha's transition process in TLWWG. Hope you enjoy this glimpse into the rockiness of their early partnership!

_Early days with S.H.I.E.L.D._

“You’re not…assigning me to some sort of… cамоубийство отряд?”

Clint looked up at her from where he was packing his bag. “You know I don’t speak that fluent of Russian, right?”

“It is a term we used in the Room, behind our handlers’ backs,” Natasha said, twisting her loaded gun around her finger. If it unnerved Barton, he didn’t show it. “It translates roughly to…suicide team?”

“Suicide squad,” Clint smiled.

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Never mind, it’s a comic book thing,” he shook his head. “And if you mean are we sending you out on dangerous missions—“

“Us,” Natasha cut in. “You practically told me your life story in interrogation, Barton. You’re no more of a saint than I am.”

“Us,” Clint nodded. “—then, yes, they are. But their intention isn’t for us to die on them. Trust me, we’re much more useful to S.H.I.E.L.D. alive and kicking. Especially you,” he added. From the glance he made to his left arm she knew he was remembering their sparring session.

Her expression hardened. “I was useful to the Red Room. I don’t want to be useful anymore.”

“We’re all useful to someone,” Clint shrugged. “And they’re useful to us too. Don’t forget—S.H.I.E.L.D. is the only thing enabling you to get back your life.” He smiled at her, zipping his bag up and shouldering it. “Come on. It might even be fun.” He exited the armory and she watched him go, still holding her gun in her hands.

The door closed behind him. “Some life,” she muttered. The gun was fully loaded…there were only two guards and Barton outside the door, she knew. Natasha gripped the handle of the weapon, finger slipping naturally over the hairpin trigger. With the element of surprise…

But no. Even she could not pretend to herself she didn’t want that life.

* * *

“You put a tracker on me,” Natasha accused. “You never did trust me.”

“Fury doesn’t put much stock in trust,” Clint admitted. “Give me your arm.” She glared at him for a second before holding it out. He plucked a small device—about a quarter the size of a button battery—off of the inner lining of her sleeve, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. He dropped it into his full mug. “Now I do.”

She yanked her arm back, fixing the sleeve of her black uniform and setting her shoulders. “And you expect me to trust you now? Getting rid of one tracker means nothing, Barton. You could have a billion others buried in my clothes, embedded in my skin…”

Clint reached into his bag and withdrew a metal stick. He waved it over his watch and it beeped angrily. “How Fury keeps track of me,” he explained. “Here, check yourself.” He held the device out to her. She took it suspiciously, passing it over both arms, down her neck and sides, and then up and down both sections of her leg. Nothing. Just to be sure, she ran it over her body again.

“Well, that was dramatic,” Clint grinned. He reached for his mug, then stopped. “And damn, I just ruined a perfectly good cup of coffee.” He looked up at her stony expression. “Oh, come on. Sit down and have breakfast with me.”

She begrudgingly lowered herself into the chair next to him at the bar. “It amazes me you’re not dead, putting your trust in people like me.”

He grinned cheekily. “I’m still young.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, more Natasha & Kate shenanigans...


	5. Eastern Market

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha goes Christmas present shopping with Kate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving out of D.C. in about two days, so I suppose this scene is now bittersweet...
> 
> Enjoy!

_Eight months after Iceland_

The street was pretty, and festive. The rowhouses lined up next to each other were painted cheery, pastel colors, occasionally interspersed with the original orange brick, and most were decorated with red, green, or icy blue lights around their fences and front gates. Wreaths hung on the doors and even the street lamps had small garlands attached to their posts. Natasha stepped gingerly over a ripple in the brick sidewalk, instinctually careful not to let it unbalance her in the slight heeled boots she was wearing. To her right, Kate looked equally if not more enraptured with the neighborhood, at least from what Natasha could tell from the part of her face _not_ covered by the red scarf over her nose and mouth.

“Thanks again for taking me with you, Natasha,” the young woman said, pulling down the scarf to give her a wide smile. Her words came out as puffs of white against the frigid air. “I haven’t been to D.C. since I was, like, eight.”

“Of course,” she said. “I’ve got a mission on Christmas Day but I wanted to make sure we got some time together before that.”

“And Clint?”

“He’s coming back tomorrow, and then we’ll both be headed out early on the 25th.”

“Sheesh,” Kate said, almond-shaped eyes teasing. “That secret government agency you work for that I totally know nothing about keeps you guys busy.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Are you telling me you’re going to be all alone on Christmas without us?”

“Nah, I’m getting together with some friends from college,” the young woman assured her. Rounding the corner, they arrived at their destination—a small outdoor marketplace with rows of white tents criss-crossing the street with people selling their fruits, vegetables, and other handmade wares at the booths underneath them. “You have to help me pick out something for Clint this year though. I can’t just keep getting him random crap that’s dog-themed.”

“I don’t know, that sounds like a pretty accurate Clint-gift to me… He still wears those Labrador socks with Lucky’s face on them that you got him last year.” Natasha said. “Besides, I haven’t found him anything yet either.”

“What? Natasha!” Kate hit her arm.

She raised an eyebrow defensively. “I’ve been busy.”

“It’s December 23rd!”

“Glass houses,” Natasha muttered.

“Yeah, yeah, all right,” Kate said, moving up to look at the first booth, which was selling an assortment of jams. “So dog-themed from me, what were you thinking for you?”

She sighed. “I don’t know. Gifts are not my forte.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Kate asked. “You are _scarily good_ at giving gifts, Natasha. Everything I’ve gotten from you since the year I met you has been something I didn’t even know I needed and then fell in love with. Seriously.”

Her lips quirked upward as they moved past the jams onto a honey stall, which was advertised to come from bees fed on local wildflowers. “Still. It’s stressful.”

“Fair.” Kate pointed to a tent up ahead. “How about something from there?” She broke into a fast walk, Natasha just a couple steps behind her.

“Jewelry?”

“Yeah, like…” Kate trailed off, then tugged Natasha’s arm excitedly, pulling her over to a display hung up in the far corner of the stand. “Natasha, they have an hourglass necklace. THIS WOULD BE PERFECT.”

“I don’t know,” Natasha hedged, eyeing the piece of jewelry in question. It was silver, like the one Clint had given her all those years ago, with a tiny metal hourglass hanging from the thin chain. Kate was right; it could almost be a matched set with the one currently hidden under the collar of her jacket, resting against the hollow of her throat.

“Come on, Tasha… Until you guys get rings this can be, like, your _thing_. Or even if you never get rings!”

“Why would we get rings?” Natasha asked, nonplussed.

“Um…because that’s what people…people who are not secret government spies…normally do?” Kate questioned. “Wait. _Wait_.” Her look of utter confusion morphed into something more accusatory. “ _Are you guys not together?_ ”

“No,” Natasha said, trying and failing not to laugh at the dumbstruck look on the young woman’s face.

“But…but…”

“Why did you think we were together?” Natasha asked.

“Um, because you literally wear an arrow necklace around your neck and I’ve never seen you apart for more than a day?” Kate said. “ _What was I supposed to think?_ ”

“Not together,” Natasha said again, smiling.

“Not ever?”

“Nope. Just partners in the field and friends.”

Kate snorted. “Friends? _Friends_?! You guys are so far beyond _friends_ … Best friends, maybe. I can’t believe…” She shook her head.

“Sorry to ruin your necklace idea,” Natasha offered.

Kate’s head snapped up. “Ruin? No, you just made it better.” She took the necklace in question off of the rack and dangled it in front of Natasha’s face. “You can still match. FRIENDSHIP NECKLACES, NATASHA.”

Laughing, she took it from her, gazing at the little hourglass glittering in the palm of her hand. “You’re right. Clint probably would like something sappy like that, wouldn’t he?”


	6. America

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint shares some news about the Farm, and Natasha shares some about Kate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy last day of Pride month! Feels like it's flown by...

_Soon after Stark Industries_

“Clint,” Natasha called, dropping her duffel bag next to the door. She flicked on the light to the dark apartment. “You back yet?”

Her partner emerged from the bedroom, his face half-covered with shaving cream and a razor in his hand. “Yeah, got back about an hour ago.”

“Wow, Laura kept you so busy that you didn’t even have time to keep up with the shaving,” Natasha teased.

“Hey, maybe she just likes me with a little stubble.”

“Mm, except I do recall one conversation we had over wine where she described kissing you with facial hair as a ‘prickly cactus,’ so I’m going to go ‘no’ on that one.”

Clint huffed. “Fine. You’re right.”

Natasha grinned. “So how was the Farm? Say hi to Laura for me?”

“Yeah, she says hi back and that you should visit next time,” he waved a hand. “But it wasn’t Laura keeping me busy so much as Cooper and Lila. She’s finally old enough that she can get mixed up in her brother’s shenanigans. They were plotting against us together, I swear.”

“Ah, yes, that is why they call it the ‘terrible fours,’” Natasha said. Clint glared at her and then disappeared back into the bathroom. He left the door open so she followed him, leaning up against the frame and watching as he drew the razor down his cheek.

“So besides the chance to make fun of me, what’s got you looking at me like the cat that ate the canary?” Clint asked in between strokes.

“Oh, I visited Kate while you were gone,” Natasha said, not even trying to be nonchalant. “Got some… _information_ …I think you might be interested in.”

Clint rinsed off his face and hands and then dried them on the towel. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He sighed. “Nat, are you going to tell me what it is?”

“She’s seeing someone.”

Clint’s face lit up. “Really? She told you? That’s awesome.” He grinned proudly. “Our little Katie’s all grown up.”

“Well, she didn’t tell me exactly; I kind of accidentally ran into them while they were together,” Natasha said. “But she confirmed it.”

He rubbed his hands together. “So that means I get to interrogate him, right? By the laws of father-figure-de-facto?” He laughed excitedly. “And here I thought I wasn’t going to get to take the mickey out of some poor boy until Lila was a teenager twelve years from now…”

“About that…”

“Wait, you didn’t _already_ interrogate him, right? Because I thought we agreed that _I_ interrogate and _you_ silently terrify and/or stalk if the situation requires it,” Clint pouted. “Play to both our strengths.”

“Nope. Haven’t spoken to her at all,” Natasha said, waiting for him to get it.

His brow furrowed. “Her?” Clint’s eyes widened. “Kate’s got a girlfriend?”

Natasha grinned. “She’s cute, too. Name’s America Chavez. Yes—I already ran the background check.”

“Oh, good,” Clint nodded. Then his face fell. “But do I still interrogate her when the ever-present threat of patriarchally-induced coercion isn’t applicable, given their equivalent societal gender roles? Or is it more sexist _not_ to interrogate her girlfriend, because then I would be discriminating against her on the basis of sex?” His eyes widened. “ _Or_ , is it _homophobic_ not to celebrate this life milestone of our pseudo-daughter-figure in the traditional interrogational way because her relationship does not fall within the guidelines of our heteronormative society?”

Natasha lost the war with herself not to laugh. “Since the institutional practice of interrogating the daughter’s boyfriend when the same is not done to the son’s girlfriend is inherently sexist in and of itself, I would say you can do whatever you want and we’ll just interpret it in the most feminist light possible.”

Clint heaved a sigh of relief. “Good, because I still want to interrogate her. Or, more accurately, make Katie _fear_ that I’m going to give her a hard time.”

“Ah, yes, the age-old American tradition of embarrassing their children as a rite of passage,” Natasha said. “Dinner next Wednesday?”

“Hell yes.”

“It’s already on the books, 6:30 at Kate’s,” Natasha grinned. “America will be there so we can be introduced officially.”

Clint checked his phone. “Next Wednesday…that’s only five days from now!” He grabbed her wrist, pulling her toward the couch. “Come on, we have to start planning! We’re master spies; our interrogation has to be perfect… What are you doing?”

“Texting Kate,” Natasha told him. “America had ‘Clint freaks out about some totally inane but semi-related thing’ after I told you, so Kate owes her twenty bucks.”

“Why am I always the one being bet on?” he whined. “Did _you_ get bet on?” 

“Kate got fifty off America for ’starts preliminary background check on phone before I’m even finished telling her;’ apparently America thought it was too specific and gave her good odds. She doesn’t know me too well yet…”

Clint cackled, all indignation gone at the thought. “Oh, she will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would love to hear what you thought :)
> 
> Up next...Natasha and Clint reunite with an old, dead friend.


	7. Coulson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and Clint are reunited with an old, dead friend.

_Six Months after the Fall of S.H.I.E.L.D._

Clint followed her down the narrow passageway, illuminated by single, bare lightbulbs suspended from the ceiling every hundred feet. The space was dark and the air damp, and Clint had to duck slightly every time they passed underneath one. “This feels like a trap.”

“It’s not a trap.” Natasha thought about it a bit more. “Probably.”

“I just don’t know what I did to you to deserve being led into a trap like this,” Clint continued as if he hadn’t heard her.

Natasha’s mouth twitched upward. “Blaming me to Stark for eating all of Thor’s pop tarts before he came to visit, for starters.” She held up a second finger. “Continuing the charade when the immortal god of Asgard actually arrived.” A third. “And Lila wants to dress up as Bobbi this Halloween instead of me, so I’m putting that one on you too.”

“Aw, Nat, you’ve had a monopoly on Lila’s Halloween costumes for the last five years,” Clint said, latching onto that last one. “And can you blame her? Have you seen Bobbi’s new suit? With the black and gray and the shoulder pads…”

“Stark’s making me a new suit,” she muttered. “Lights up blue and everything.”

“I thought you told him to kill that idea for stealth reasons?”

She sighed. “Bold of you to assume Tony listens to me.”

“True.” He checked his phone. “And you’re sure the message from Mel was from _Melinda_ , right? Not Melina? Because I don’t really want to be here if it was from Melina.”

“She’s not that bad. Just because she knocked you out that one time…”

“Two times.”

“Two times,” Natasha amended. “And yeah, it was from May on a secure channel. A suspiciously S.H.I.E.L.D.-like secure channel.”

“Guess Fury brought her into the fold,” Clint said. The passageway ended abruptly in front of them with a metal door. Glancing at him, Natasha tried the handle with a careful finger. Unlocked.

“Ready,” he signed at her, hand then going back to hover near his sidearm.

Natasha pushed the door open, moving cautiously into a dimly lit room. A steel table was at the center of it with three chairs, two on Clint and Natasha’s side and one on the opposite, where May herself was seated. Similar to the passageway, there was only one lightbulb, suspended directly above her head to illuminate the table but leaving the sides of the room blanketed in darkness.

“May,” Clint greeted her, relaxing slightly. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too, Barton,” she nodded, although she didn’t quite smile. “Romanoff.”

“How’ve you been?” Clint asked, though the agent had not been one for small talk after Bahrain. “We tried to find you after S.H.I.E.L.D. fell, but you were off the grid—”

“We don’t have a lot of time,” May told him.

“So, the coded message?” Natasha prompted. “Why’d you call us here?”

May indicated that they should take a seat. “There’s some information I need to give you,” she said as they sat down. “About Coulson’s death.”

Clint froze in surprise, while Natasha frowned, feeling as if all the air had been sucked out of the dim room. Her left hand found Clint’s leg near the knee, and she squeezed gently, trying to keep him grounded. Two years and eight months out from the Battle of New York, Clint only occasionally had nightmares about Loki and Coulson—and Natasha wanted to keep it that way. “What kind of information?”

“The kind Fury didn’t want you privy to after what happened on the helicarrier, classified to above your clearance level,” May said. The air stirred with movement behind Natasha’s head, a faint whisper on the back of her neck, and her free hand went immediately for her knife, whipping around.

“Welcome to Level 7,” Phil Coulson said, stepping into the light.

“WHAT.” Clint nearly fell out of his chair, staring at his former handler in shock.

Natasha’s grip on the knife only tightened. “May, what the fuck.”

“It’s him,” May confirmed.

Unconvinced, Natasha pointed the knife at their former handler. Next to her, Clint was still open-mouthed. “What was the reason I was mad at you after my first mission?” she demanded.

“I was two minutes late,” Coulson replied easily. Confusion replaced the abject alarm, and Natasha reluctantly slid the knife back into its sheath.

“Phil,” Clint breathed, standing up and nearly knocking him over in his haste to wrap his arms around him. “I don’t understand…how…?”

“Fury,” Coulson said in answer. “He moved heaven and earth to bring me back after New York.” He hugged him. “I’m glad to see you too, Clint.” A full minute passed before they pulled apart again, and when they did, Natasha saw that her partner’s eyes were full of tears. That more than anything ignited the full force of her fury.

“Natasha?” Coulson asked, opening his arms to her as well.

She stood up so quickly that her chair was knocked to the side and skittered across the room, creating a heavy metallic screech as it went. “YOU SON OF A BITCH.”

“Nat…”

“No,” she said to Clint without even looking at him, her eyes focused entirely on their former handler. “You can be happy he’s alive. I get to be fucking furious.” She jabbed a finger at Coulson’s chest. “How dare you?”

“I’m sorry you weren’t told sooner, Natasha…”

“How dare you let us believe all this time that you were killed on the helicarrier?” Natasha demanded. “How dare you let Clint believe for months that he killed you?” She was right in his face now. “You let him spiral into a depression of guilt over your death, and now you just show up, like everything’s fine, like it was all some sort of elaborate joke by you and Fury—”

“Natasha,” May growled from behind her. “ _Stand. Down._ ”

“It’s all right, May,” Coulson said. “She has a right to—”

“I DAMN WELL HAVE A RIGHT.”

“Nat,” Clint said again, and this time she did look at him, still breathing heavily. “It’s okay.”

“It’s _not_.”

“It is to me,” he said simply. “I just want to hear what he has to say about how this is possible.” She stared at him for a minute, then stalked off to retrieve her chair. She slammed it down at the table again and sat down on it, hard.

Across from them, Coulson and May switched places, May disappearing out the way they’d come with an ominous, “You have five minutes.”

Natasha crossed her arms once Coulson was seated as well. “So. Talk.”

“Please,” Clint added, still looking at their former handler with an expression of mixed disbelief and joy.

“I was dead,” Coulson clarified. “For days. Fury used an alien drug to bring me back. And he replaced my memories of the procedure with images of Tahiti so that I wouldn’t go crazy with the knowledge of what they’d done.” Natasha opened her mouth again to ask another question but allowed herself to be forestalled by Coulson’s raised hand. “When I came back, I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell everyone. But Fury said not to, and…by that time, you seemed happy not knowing. You’d already gotten through the worst of it.” His voice was gentle now. “I didn’t want to re-open old wounds.”

“You looked in on us,” Clint said.

“Of course I did.” Coulson’s gaze was soft, calm and caring in exactly the way Natasha remembered it. Coulson had always cared about them, more than a normal handler would. “You two were my first.”

Next to her, Clint swallowed. “It’s just really good to see you, Phil.”

“So why now?” Natasha asked, but in a more measured voice, feeling her anger dissipate somewhat.

“Well, Fury doesn’t give the orders anymore,” Coulson replied. “S.H.I.E.L.D. has a new director.”

“You,” Clint surmised.

He nodded. “Me.”

“We would come back, you know,” Natasha said. “To S.H.I.E.L.D. We could—”

“Your Avengers duties are more than enough at the moment,” Coulson said. “Keeping the team together—that should be your priority. Earth needs you two.”

“Still, if you ever need us, sir…” Clint offered.

Their handler smiled. “I know.”

“Coulson,” May called from behind them. “Time to go. Skye needs you.” Nodding their handler stood up from the table, looking apologetic as he made his excuses and promised to keep more in touch.

“Skye?” Natasha questioned, hugging him finally.

“My third,” he replied with a small smile and a familiar twinkle in his eye. “Take care of yourselves.”

“We will,” she promised.

“And each other.”

“That too,” Clint agreed. Only once Coulson and May had disappeared from sight down the passageway did he turn back to her, eyes misty but with the happiness clear on his face. “Looks like Coulson’s taking in strays again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Couldn't leave Clint and Natasha in the dark forever lol. Also, happy birthday to Skye/Daisy Johnson ;)
> 
> That's all I've got for now. Hope to see you again in another comments section, whether it be on your fic or mine! Thank you again for coming on this ride with me <3


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